


stop the car

by wtfmulder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 10:43:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9719915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfmulder/pseuds/wtfmulder
Summary: Monica and Scully have a girls' night in.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day!

“Why not go a little wild with it? Hot pink,” suggests Monica. Her brush strokes are focused and precise, because she will not screw this up, even though she kind of sucks at it.

“Agent Reyes,” Scully warns.

“Or maybe a pretty powder blue.” Her tongue poked out at the corner of her mouth as she lifts Scully’s right hand to inspect her work. “ Or a sexy Camaro red.”

“Too distracting while I’m carving up the dead.” Scully pulls her hand back and hums appreciatively. “You colored inside the lines.”

“Gross.” They both laugh and Monica recaps the tan polish sitting between them.

It’s a Friday night and William is improbably, blessedly asleep in the nursery. They’d gone through Monica’s bottle of wine and pulled a little something from Scully’s stash before Monica had offered to help her with a much-needed touchup.

“No time to get a manicure with my class schedule,” Scully had explained, holding her hands out gratefully.

This thing where they dress up in their comfiest pajamas and talk about stuff they never really paid any mind to in real life, like Bureau gossip and celebrity crushes, has been going on a little bit, and neither of them knows just how much the other needs it. Scully cannot remember the last time she had another woman as a friend, and had never had one quite so much like herself, unmarried and ambitious and a little turned on whenever she gets to take her gun out. Monica knows she’s never had a friend like Scully, so radiant and mind-numbingly intelligent it rubs off on her in small and large ways, inspires her to be a better agent, a better person.

And so began a new weekly routine, a droplet of normalcy in a drought of the truly bizarre.

As Scully’s nails dry, the wine-drowsy women flip through a million channels on the television, take tiny sips of their wine, take large sips of their wine, and startle slightly whenever one accidentally brushes the other with a hand, hip or shoulder. Another new routine, this girlish, youthful awkwardness. Something Monica has been dealing with since she met Scully, and which Scully has returned since a late night phone conversation where Monica called her a nine and told her she was beyond this world.

Maybe it’s the alcohol or maybe it has something to do with Scully’s habit of comparing her hand to other things to admire her freshly painted nails, but her fingers slide under Monica’s where they’re resting on the couch and curl up so they’re settled knuckle to knuckle. They both look down and admire her pretty nails, their intertwined hands.

It feels very nice. Monica’s hand is much softer than her own, baring no callouses from scalpels, forceps or the several extra hours at the shooting range Scully’s picked up just in case, just in case. Her nails are bare, much shorter, but her fingers are so long. Much longer than her own.

“Dana?” Monica says softly. They’re shoulder to shoulder, and Scully is overwhelmed by the scent of coconut oil. Is it in Monica’s hair? Scully leans in closer.

“You have been… such a comfort to me.” She brings up a hand to caress Monica’s cheek, flushing with a calm adoration when the other woman nuzzles into her palm. Now they’re knee knee, but it feels like they’re touching everywhere.

Very slowly, Monica turns her head to plant a soft, hot kiss to the center of Scully’s palm. The gentleness of it makes Scully ache. She feels pliant and breakable in a way she hasn’t let herself be in so long, maybe ever. The little kisses that travel down her wrist and arm are just as tender, and suddenly she feels swaddled in the taller woman’s presence, safely kept and treasured.

“Is this okay?” Monica asks into the supple flesh of her inner elbow. The wet warmth of the inside of Monica’s bottom lip clues Scully in on the slickness between her thighs and turns her hot all over. “Am I reading you right?”

Scully lets her eyes slip shut and all oxygen leaves her lungs in a dizzying whoosh. “Yes,” she hisses. And then Monica is tugging her closer, until they really are touching everywhere, and kisses her soundly.

Maybe Monica applies the coconut oil all over. Her mouth certainly tastes of it, possesses that sort of waxy sheen that hints at several coats of chapstick. One day Scully wants to watch her put it on, smooth it through her long, dark hair in the shower, rub it over her endless legs, her firm, muscled calves after shaving. But she doesn’t muse on this for too long, becoming awfully distracted by the way Monica’s tongue surveys the tops of her teeth in languid, sloppy movements. It’s gentle and it’s really not, hinting at a longing that touched Scully to the very core of her being.

When the kiss inevitably breaks, Scully stokes Monica’s scalp, urging her to go where she’s already set on going and gasping aloud as that talented tongue strokes a blazing path from her ear to the softened line of Scully’s jawbone.

“ I knew you’d have sensitive ears,” Monica breathes whisper soft, wickedly, right against her earlobe.

“How?” Scully croaks, tensing her fingers around locks of brunette hair as Monica bites down. “Read it in my horoscope?”

Monica maps out some convoluted pathway down her chin and neck with her teeth and tongue, and Scully can feel her smiling through the whole journey. “I saw it in a dream,” Monica murmurs into her collarbone, beginning to pop the buttons of Scully’s silk pajama top. “I never saw your face, but I always knew it was you.”

Scully’s penchant for tall, dark brunettes who talk entirely too much (but say the loveliest things) never really fails her. She drags Monica’s mouth back to her own to make her keep talking, only in a different way, and enjoys the sensation of her constricting silk shorts rubbing her in all the right places. She’s sucking on Monica’s tongue when she feels the slightest pressure against the raw, sticky skin of her nipples, and forces herself to sit back and shake her head. “

Sorry,” she grimaces. “Too sensitive.”

“Let me look at you then,” Monica replies. Her deft hands pull apart the flaps of Scully’s shirt before pushing it over her shoulders. Her gaze is intense, beseeching, but in no way intrusive. Scully’s slight insecurity over her body post-pregnancy is a fleeting thing, impossible to hold on to with the way Monica looks at her, strokes her elegant fingers under her breasts, over her collarbone, traces the mottled, shiny skin of her scars and stretch marks. Scully feels more than a little regret that her breasts are off limits but knows, somewhere inside of her, there will be a next time.

“You have such a pretty body, Dana,” Monica observes, flicking her thumbnail over Scully’s belly button. She presses down on her tummy as it jumps beneath her, watching Scully’s hips lift to meet her touch.

The redhead licks her lips desperately. “You saw this in your dreams, too?” But her joke falls flat, because Monica is too busy slipping the tapered tips of her ringers under Scully’s waistband. Her eyes close again but she feels the heat of Monica’s gaze watching her closely, like she’s looking past skin and seeing blood, bone and muscle. Intense, but never intrusive, just the way Monica so often is.

Monica’s thumb strokes over her curls and pushes up to find her clit, and Scully feels a surge of hormones and emotions so strong she almost comes. Having missed out on all the fun pregnancy sex is supposed to be and living the past few months essentially as a shrouded widow has taken its toll, she is a tinderbox, she is crackling oil in a shallow pan. Monica’s touch is healing and sexy, and she has Scully writhing against her hand in no time.

Pressing her cheek against Scully’s soft, curling hair, Monica hums a little as she slips one finger inside of her. “You’re so wet,” she says into Scully’s temple. “I can’t believe how much you want this.”

Scully believes it fine – the slick, effortless glide of Monica’s finger is driving her mad. It’s too slow, too fast. She finds herself missing it as it remains right there, reaching in to her to stroke at the root of her clitoris. The exploratory and curious touch turns very purposeful when Scully cries aloud and tilts her pelvis to match Monica’s thrusting.

“More?” Scully nods her head against Monica’s cheek. The addition of another finger meets delicious, hesitant resistance, her pussy at once pulling Monica deep and begging her to pull back out. It’s a fullness Scully never had the time to enjoy, a prelude to other, finer things. But when Monica brings her other hand to play with and pluck at her clit, Scully can’t imagine anything finer than this, as she spasms rhythmically around Monica’s fingers and the blood pulses in her head with the sheer force of her orgasm.

It’s a lot like being dead and coming back to life, or what she knows of it, when the fog lifts and she comes to. Monica’s peppering little kitten-like kisses over her brow and nose, shushing and petting her like she’s consoling her, not making her come.

When she has the chance to catch her breath, they both lean in for another kiss, sweet but forceful, tender and blistering hot, and Scully begins to make work of Monica’s body to reveal her in all of her slim, dark glory.

“Hmm,” Scully mumbles appreciatively, before diving down to take a perfect brown nipple into her watering mouth. At Monica’s loud, whimpering response, she is encouraged to palm her other breast and pinch the nipples just a little harder than she’d like on herself.

“Oh Jesus,” Monica whispers loudly. Her tongue sounds like it’s stuck in her throat and it makes Scully feel dangerous, makes her bite at the yielding flesh at the swell of Monica’s breasts. “Fuck, Dana, touch me. Pleasetouchme–”

“Nails are too long,” Scully answers apologetically, proving her point by taking them down Monica’s exposed, tight back. “But… ”

Scully slides bonelessly off of the couch, kneeling between Monica’s spread legs and trying her damnedest to taste Monica’s cunt through damp flannel. The heat and smell of her is singeing, runs through Scully’s sated body like a forest fire. Her tongue draws over the fabric and finds the split of her lover, plunging roughly like she could stab a hole in the cloth and finish her that way.

Together they ease Monica’s pants over her hips and down her legs so that they pool around her ankles, and then she is gloriously bare. Scully drags her fingers through the tangled curls and parts Monica’s labia with her thumb finger, marveling at the purplish folds and cute little clitoris peeking out from under its hood. She swoops down to touch it with the very tip of her tongue, and Monica’s response is instant.

“Dana!” She pants, throwing her head back and hitting the couch cushions. Scully replies by pulling her hips closer to her face and painting wide, woozy stripes from her opening to her clit with firm strokes of her tongue. “I had no – no idea, oh my FUCK.”

Scully lets Monica set the pace, following the movement of her rolling pelvis with the relentless suction of her mouth, lapping up the thick, heady taste of her in a manner that showed her thirst for what it really is, what it’s been since she’s known Monica. When her hands reach up to cup Monica’s perky breasts, thumbs flicking over the taut nipples as her mouth tortured the hardened little flesh between her lips, Monica comes against her tongue with a muffled shout, holding Scully to her with a hand on the back of her neck. Scully gently comforts her through her completion until they finally relax in that position, Scully’s chin resting on Monica’s thigh and Monica’s hand petting her face and hair.

With a little reluctance, both women slowly climb back into their clothes, taking their time to help each other and steal kisses. Monica pulls Scully’s shorts back over her legs and Scully buttons most of the buttons on Monica’s top. Scully complains that her breasts are full and aching, so Monica rubs her tense back and kisses her deeply until they fall asleep, cuddled in Scully’s bed.


End file.
